


Renegade (Who Had It Made)

by moonflowers



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Between Steve and Max, Billy with Powers, Fix-It, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Journal Entries, Light Angst, M/M, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, POV Switches, Post-Season/Series 03, Soft Boys, briefly, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-06-30 09:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: When she met his eye again she looked serious, decisive, eyes bright and jaw set in determination. It was the same look Hargrove used to get in gym, when he finally stopped showboating and shoving at Steve and actually got into the game. That was when Steve had liked him best. They might not have been related, but it was obvious she’d absorbed little pieces of her step brother, tiny flashes of him that she probably wasn’t even aware of showing through. “I think you should read this.”(Or: Three months after Billy’s gone, Max finds a journal.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't claim credit for this idea - pretty sure people have written similar things before except that Billy goes back to California instead of being y’know presumed dead. And I LOVE those fics where Steve finds out about Billy having a thing for him through a note or whatever that he wasn’t meant to see, y’know? So I wanted to have a go.
> 
> Title from Styx's Renegade.

Three months after Starcourt, and in one way or another, Steve still found himself thinking about Hargrove almost every day. Which might have sounded weird, but thing is he hadn’t realised just how often he saw him until he wasn’t there anymore.

It wasn’t like they’d been friends, hell no. Hargrove was just as much of an asshole as he’d always been when the summer started. Would drop into Scoops while he was working purely to remind Steve just how much of an asshole, actually. Would spend ages holding up the line like he didn’t know what to order, commenting on his uniform and making weird cracks about seamen that made Robin roll her eyes, only to order with a decisiveness that suggested he’d known what he wanted all along. 

_“Strawberry on a waffle cone, Captain Heartthrob. And I got places to be, so better raise the flag full mast or whatever.”_

Regrettably, Steve didn’t know enough about sailing terminology to know whether his dumb cracks had even made sense. Didn’t care enough to find out, either. But he’d made sure to get him back for it all the same, when he took the kids to the pool on his days off. When they’d wanted the snack stand and vending machines and other shit that didn’t come with hanging around by the pool at Steve’s house. He’d prop himself up against the lifeguard chair with a smile, push his sunglasses up on top of his head, and ask Billy where he went to get his chest waxed, or wasn’t he meant to be wearing the official Hawkins pool lifeguard shirt, or when he was going to accept the advances of old Mrs Faircastle who kept eyeing him up from her pool chair. 

_“Your mom’s bedroom, it’s not mandatory Harrington, and how do you know I haven’t already?”_

He saw him when the two of them were dropping the kids off at Mike’s, picking them up from the arcade, when they'd wanted to take El on a trip to the lake and couldn’t all fit in one car. There were other times too, so many that they all ran into one long blur of sharp smiles and Coppertone and the smell of too-hot cars. It was an absence he never would have guessed he’d feel so sorely.

#

“What’s got you looking so down Stevie,” Robin popped her gum, “it’s almost quittin’ time.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, flashed her a smile and tried not to think about another long night alone at home. “Nah, it’s nothing.”

“Nope,” she said, already tugging at her work vest, counting down the seconds until she could whip it off and forget all about Family Video for a few hours, “you don’t get to shrug me off like that, Harrington.” The ‘after what we’ve been through together’ went unsaid. 

He thought about trying to talk his way out of it, because it was stupid and kind of embarrassing and he didn’t even really know exactly what it was that was bothering him, how to put it into words. But Robin had a point; dumb or not, it did sometimes help him get his head on straight to talk things through out loud.

“Hargrove,” he said, and waited for her to laugh. She didn’t. There was only a confused pause before a quiet – 

“What about him?”

“I don’t know?” he chewed on his lip and frowned down at the countertop. “Like, we weren’t friends or anything, dude was a total asshole. But he was just always there, y’know? And now he’s… not.”

He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye, scratch at her nose. “Makes sense. He might have been a lot of things, but subtle certainly wasn’t one of ‘em. Shit, I never even spoke to the guy but I feel like I knew all about him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He was kind of a big presence Steve,” she wrinkled her nose in an almost-smile, “hard not to notice.”

“I guess,” that only made him feel worse, with how quickly it seemed everyone had just forgotten about him, “but I just feel… I dunno, bad.”

“Why? It wasn't like you could've - ” 

“The guy was fucking possessed, Robin,” he stage whispered, mindful of the two kids still browsing the rows of tapes. “Sometimes I just…" he shrugged. "Maybe we didn’t try hard enough to get it out of him.” In fairness, Steve hadn’t known about it until the last minute. Over the short time Billy’d been carrying the mindflayer around with him, Steve hadn’t actually seen him until that night at the mall. He’d had double shifts at Scoops, and Billy hadn’t stopped by to prod at him once. Nothing super unusual about that, although it would have been a lie to say he hadn’t noticed. They weren’t even friends… "Forget it. It's dumb, I know."

"No," she shook her head

"What - "

“It was shitty,” Robin said, and put a hand on his shoulder. He could smell the sugary fruit of her gum, “what happened to him. There’s not anything I can say to change that. It was shitty, and unfair, and despite being a total douchebag, he didn’t deserve it. You want my honest thoughts, Stevie?"

"Sure."

"I think it would be a lot weirder if you didn’t think about it, sometimes.”

“Mm.” He thought about it a lot.

“He saved all of us,” she said. “Maybe try and think about that instead. He knew what he was doing, then.”

He already thought about that a lot too. How Hargrove had managed to shake it all off with one kind thought from El. How if one of them had tried harder, or sooner, things might have ended up different. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, and he knew it was dumb to get caught up in what-if’s, but it was hard to not think _I should have fucking done something._ “Yeah. Maybe not such an asshole after all, huh?”

#

They were closing up, Steve twirling his car keys around his finger and waiting for Robin to finish cashing up, when he noticed someone standing out front in the semi-darkness. It was Max, arms folded and frowning hard, something tucked under her arm. They’d be finished in a couple of minutes, but Steve was bored and she looked like something was troubling her, so. 

“Hey,” he said as he slipped out of the door, leaving it ajar so Robin wouldn’t think he’d left her to walk home, “what’s up, Max?”

She jumped a little, like she hadn’t seen him coming. “Hey Steve,” she still had a weird look on her face. She was wearing one of Billy’s shirts tucked into her cut-offs, skateboard in hand and a band aid half peeled off her knee.

“Do uh, do you need a ride or something?” He couldn’t think why else she’d be lurking outside the store past closing, and none of the other kids with her. 

“No,” she shook her head, hesitant. “I just,” she took the thing she was holding out from under her arm. It was a notebook. When she met his eye again she looked serious, decisive, eyes bright and jaw set in determination. It was the same look Hargrove used to get in gym, when he finally stopped showboating and shoving at Steve and actually got into the game. That was when Steve had liked him best. They might not have been related, but it was obvious she’d absorbed little pieces of her step brother, tiny flashes of him that she probably wasn’t even aware of showing through. “I think you should read this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be one or two chapters about journal entries, but it grew into a big legit fix-it woops. I’ve got a lot of this rough drafted though, so hopefully it won’t be too long between posts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I find diary/journal/whatever entries way more difficult to write than dialogue, so. The entries are in italics.

Max spent a lot of time in Billy’s room after he was gone. Just sitting on his bed, maybe listening to his records, absently holding one of his jackets like she was about to hang it up but never did. Once she’d tried smoking one of his cigarettes, but that hadn’t gone so great. She’d waited a long time before deciding to go through his stuff properly, _months,_ aside from fishing out the odd shirt of his to wear and ignoring the pitying looks her mom gave her for it. He wouldn’t have liked the idea of anyone pawing through his stuff, but somebody had to do it, and Max was pretty sure he’d feel better about her doing it than Neil, or her mom, or a stranger from goodwill. She wasn’t going to throw anything out, not unless it was obvious garbage, like old cans of hairspray and the odd empty cigarette carton, tissues she didn’t want to think too much about. There wasn’t too much shit like that anyway – Neil would’ve been on his ass about it if there was. But he hadn’t as much as looked in there since Billy had… it was like he’d never had a son at all.

She told herself it was just tidying, a chore she usually hated, and not an excuse to shut herself away and think about her brother. Day to day, she felt pretty normal. School had started again, and she hung out with the guys or at Lucas’ house, although El and Will not being around had taken time to get used to. But sometimes, she just wanted to stop, think about him for a minute. Even though it made her sad, sadder than she’d ever been about anything, she still found herself combing through memories of him, the good and bad. It wasn’t the same big, desperate childlike sadness she’d had over dumb shit before, the kind that blew over with a good angry cry. This was deeper, hollow and heavy all at once, and no amount of crying had made it go away. She’d stopped crying weeks ago.

That morning she’d been through the closet, the mess of things scattered on his vanity. She’d rediscovered the magazines in his top drawer and wrinkled her nose, wondered if she should throw them out too; she couldn’t imagine Neil would approve if he suddenly decided to remember that Billy’d ever existed again and go through his stuff. Not that it would make any difference to Billy now. She’d picked one up gingerly between her forefinger and thumb, and a few loose pages had fallen out. It looked like more of the same kind of stuff, dumb poses and tanned, oily skin, but… they were guys. Which had surprised her for all of half a minute, until she’d given it some thought, put it alongside everything else she already sort-of knew. She’d decided she definitely had to throw them out, after that. 

After lunch, she brought a can of soda in with her, and tackled the final drawer. At first glance, it looked like it was mostly school stuff mixed in with garbage; scrunched up papers, text books, rough drafts of essays and a few broken pens. She pulled out a stack of books with a sigh, and pushed her hair out of her face. Between a calc textbook and a Steinbeck novel so covered with notes she could barely read it, there was a notebook. The cheap as shit kind Melvald’s sold by the truckload and nearly everyone had for schoolwork. It looked like a whole load of pages had been torn out of it too, screwed up and squashed at the bottom of the drawer. She flipped it open and took another sip of soda, expecting math or chemistry or something equally boring. But the first page was filled with doodles in blue ball point – little skulls like the one he’d had tattooed on his arm, a bunch of song lyrics, a car that looked like it was meant to be the Camaro. She smiled, sad-happy, and ran her finger over the scribbles. She flipped through pages of Billy’s smudged handwriting, still expecting school stuff and not paying much attention, until a word caught her eye. Her name.

_Gave Max a ride to one of her loser friends’ houses._

What? Flipping back through the notebook so fast she almost tore out one of the doodle pages, she searched for the first page he’d written on. 

_When I gave Colin Gross a bloody nose in fifth grade, Miss Morales told me to try figuring myself out on paper instead of using my fists. I didn’t try. And as dumb of a fuckin’ idea it is to commit this shitshow to paper, I’m just desperate enough to try it now. This one’s for you ma’am._

Holy shit. A journal? Or something like it. She couldn’t think of a better answer anyway, as little sense as her gross metalhead jock brother keeping a journal made. Well, it made about as much sense as everything else that happened in Hawkins. Which meant she probably shouldn’t be reading it; it was obviously meant to be private, and who knows what kind of crap he’d written in it. Things she probably didn’t want to know, honestly. But she was still clinging to him any way she could, not ready to let him go, and this was one more way to do it. Still feeling a tiny bit like she was intruding, she went to sit on Billy’s bed, taking the book with her. 

_Gave Max a ride to one of her loser friends’ houses. She sang along to Ratt the whole way and tossed me her last gumball before she got out. She looks happy, and I don’t know whether to fuckin’ love her or hate her for it. See, I used to get a kick out of telling her it was her fault we moved. And it goddamn was, the little tattle-tale. But she was only a kid, a kid who knew I hated her and didn’t get why. I probably would have done the same in her place, taken the chance to get back at someone who’d been a dick to me. It was my fault too, I got sloppy. Stupid. But it was mostly Neil’s fault for being a gigantic asshole, so. Suck it, dad. Point is, why we came here doesn’t matter all that much anymore. Max is happy here, and I want her to stay happy. Someone in this poor fucking excuse for a family should be. She’s still a little shit though._

She outright laughed at that, a strangled sob, thick and wet with sudden tears.

_Neil made me cancel another ‘date.’ Seems to be a real popular thing to threaten me with since last winter. Not that I even had a date to begin with, but it’s a pretty watertight way of getting out of the house for a few hours. I had to fake calling up some girl to tell her the trip to the movies was off while he watched. He kept saying she must be a slut, that she must be easy if she was willing to go out with me, that girls like that were no good. Jokes on you dad, I’ve never once looked at a pair of tits and gotten a kick out of it. He can’t seem to decide if I’m a fag or desperate for pussy. But then, consistency has never been his strongest suit. And the reason I had to cancel? I hadn’t taken the trash out today. Fucking trash can was almost empty, I already took it out last night. Can’t decide if losing my evening of freedom or the shiner he gave me for ‘not looking sorry enough’ about it all was worse. Bullshit._

He mostly just sounded sad, resigned, like he was used to it. Looking back on the years she’d spent under the same roof as them both, she realised he probably was. She knew Neil was a dick to Billy, but then she’d always figured that Billy was a dick too, so it balanced out. It wasn’t until the few months before he… died, that she’d started to realise there was more to it than that. That she maybe didn’t hate him anymore, and maybe he didn’t always deserve it. She was suddenly very aware of the man sitting in the next room watching TV with her mom, the man who hadn’t cried when he’d heard the news about his son, and felt how unfair, how fucked up it all was. She flipped to another random page. This one must have been a little older – Billy had written about school basketball. Though what the hell made that exciting enough to write about, she wasn’t sure.

_Today was the last game of the season. We won, of course we fucking did. But it doesn’t matter all that much. Losing would have pissed me off big time, but I’ve got better things to think about. He played good. Like I always knew he could, if he would just stop dicking around. Could actually see why they used to call him King. He was… fuck, beautiful. Strong and focused, didn’t take any shit, y’know? Not from me or Tommy, and not from the other team. He was like fucking poetry on that court today. I had to get back home before the after party got going, because Neil’s determined to ruin my life in every way possible, but he slapped me on the back, smiled and said we made a good team. I could have punched him for that. Or kissed him. I hate myself for falling back into this bullshit. I tried hating him for a while, but obviously that didn’t work out either, so I’ll stick to hating myself._

Shit. He hadn’t mentioned a name – whether it was a precaution against Neil reading it or writing out his name was too much of an admission, she wasn’t sure – but he didn’t have to. It was obvious who he was talking about. Which left her with one question. Should she tell him? She wanted to. She still felt sick with guilt sometimes, about what happened to Billy, and wanted to… crap, she didn’t know, _do something for him?_ Like some last gesture might bring her a little closure. A part of her sneered that it was too damn late now anyway, and another wondered if it was downright cruel to show Steve the journal now that Billy was gone. And she wasn’t naïve enough to think that blabbing about Billy liking guys wasn’t stupid either, but… she knew Steve well enough to be pretty sure he would be cool about stuff like that. And if not, well, she knew he could keep a secret. She just wanted _someone,_ one other person besides El who didn’t even live in town anymore, to know there was some fucking good in her brother. That was what made her decision, in the end. 

She set it aside, and picked up one of the torn out pages from the bottom of the drawer. There were smudges all over it, smears of blotted blue ball point, and jagged edges. Smoothing out the creases, she turned it over to see the same creature she’d seen tucked away in Will’s sketchbooks when he’d thought no one was looking, the same thing that had crashed through the roof of the mall, the thing that Billy had been forced to create and the thing that he’d stood up to, and had killed him for it. The Mindflayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lack of dialogue. Things pick up after this, promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like I can't decide if I want this to be funny or sad. So there's that.

_Max snuck into my room with a PB &J a little after nine. I told her she needn’t have fucking bothered, but she didn’t say anything, just shoved the plate at me and stomped out again. Apparently I didn’t deserve to eat tonight, because somehow dinner and me roughing up that asshole Mark are connected. He was pissed I was putting the moves on some chick he likes, said my earring made me look like a queer. He should’ve known better. Whatever. The detention I got for slapping him around made me late home and Neil kicked off, made Susan scrape the plate she’d kept for me into the trash. That sandwich was the best damn thing I ever tasted. Kid’s a fuckin’ angel when she wants to be._

\---

_Dad took my fucking keys again. This time I’m honestly not even sure what I did. FUCK._

\---

 _Drove out to the new mall. Only went because Max wanted to go with her little boyfriend and didn't want to catch the bus and wouldn’t stop whining about it. It was alright. Almost felt like real civilisation again after being stuck in this dead end of a town so long. I’ve almost gotten used to it, which is too fucked up to think about._  
_I’d heard he was working there. And praise be, the rumours turned out to be true. A goddamn ice cream joint, of all things. They’re making him wear a little sailor uniform, and I honestly don’t know what I fucking did to deserve this. All I could think about was the time I took Millie Johnson to that shitty diner to split a sundae, kissed her before she got out of the car. It sucked, of course it fucking did, but her mouth had tasted like vanilla ice cream and strawberry sauce. I wanna know if his mouth tastes like butterscotch or cherries jubilee._

\---

_This lifeguard gig isn’t as bad as I thought. Co-workers are dicks and the fucking kids are rowdy as hell, but it’s cash and it’s better than the mall. All the attention from the sidelines isn’t so bad either. Where’s the fun in lookin’ this good if it doesn’t get the ladies all hot and bothered, right? They don’t need to know they’re batting their eyelashes up the wrong tree. Weirdly, best part of it is teaching the kids. The tiny ones, y’know? The ones who get dumped at the pool for swimming lessons because they’re too small to look after themselves, and their parents don’t know what to do with em’ while they go for lunchtime margaritas at the club. They don’t give me any shit and they’re actually happy to see me. Josie swam a whole width by herself today._

\---

 _Since when did he have chest hair?? I am personally fucking offended I didn’t know about this sooner. I swear he didn’t have that at school, believe me I would have noticed. Shit. And then he shows up at the pool with this goddamn RUG on his chest, and I don’t know if I wanna curl my fingers in it and pull, or bury my face in it and breathe. I can see it poking out the top of that little sailor outfit and I honestly want to fuckin’ cry._

#

It was a slow afternoon, and Steve was killing time rewinding returned tapes and trying not to think about Hargrove’s journal. The first night Max had given it to him, he’d flipped through the whole thing in a sort of daze, face hot and hands clammy and brain not quite catching up with what his eyes were seeing. He'd felt kind of... shitty afterwards, like he'd crossed a line. But every night since, he’d still pulled it out from under his bed to read something from it before he went to sleep. Which was pretty fucking weird if he thought about it too hard, but he couldn’t help himself. And frankly his life was way past weird by this point, so what was one more thing on the list, huh? A lot of it wasn’t even about him, and yet he found himself reading it anyway. About school and California and his mom and Max and his dad. A lot of it was just plain angry. Hurt. But some of it was undeniably about Steve, enough to make it clear that he... There were no dates. It looked like Billy just wrote whenever it took his fancy, and never anything trivial, or at least not trivial to him. It always seemed like he wrote about something that had made him really happy, or mad, or sad. Examples of the last two outweighed the first. The worst entries by far were the last ones, torn out and screwed up but not thrown out, and smoothed open by Max when she’d found them. Ones from when Billy’d had the mindflayer with him. The writing was big and scrawled and smudged, pen pressing so hard it had nearly torn the paper. 

“You okay there, sailor?” It was a habit Robin hadn’t dropped, even though Scoops was now a distant memory. And a vaguely unpleasant one, considering all the shit he’d been through on the last day he’d worn that stupid sailor uniform.

“Yeah.” He frowned at the pile of videos, realised Footloose had finished rewinding a long time ago and he hadn’t noticed. 

“Bullshit.”

He glared at her. “I’m fine Robin, jeez.”

“Then how come you look like someone made you punch a puppy?” she said, and pinched his cheek. “You’ll bum out the customers with that pouty face on all evening.”

Steve snorted. “Rich coming from you, Buckley.” His customer service face was way better than Robin’s. He was sure, like, ninety percent of the tips they'd ever made in Scoops were from him switching on his ‘meeting the parents’ smile. 

She flicked his arm with a surprisingly loud little snap. “Dick.”

“Ouch! Christ,” he waved her away and rubbed at the little red mark, sting fading already. “You’re dangerous, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yeah, a secret Russian military spy ring.” He cracked a smile at that. “Now, are you gunna tell me, or are you gunna make me flick you again?”

“I – “

Could he? There was no way he was going to tell her what Billy’d said about him in the journal, or that it even existed. Not cool. But he could tell her how messed up he was feeling over it. Over his weird, stumbling rush of feelings for him that he barely understood and had come too late. How he might just be a little bit like her. God, the whole thing was fucking _sad._ Billy was _dead_ and… As fucking excruciating as saying it out loud was going to be, it was going to mess him up even more if he tried to figure it out by himself. As much as he preferred to stay in denial, he knew himself well enough to know that. And if anyone could help him with it, it would be her.

“Right,” he said, “shit. Well – “

“Steve!”

Both of them jumped and looked up to see Dustin barrelling into the store with Max hot on his heels, knocking over a carboard cut-out as they rounded the corner and both looking a little winded.

“Hey man, where’s the fire?” Steve said as Dustin slammed his hands on the counter.

“Have we got news for you guys!” he said, practically vibrating with excitement.

“What is it?” Steve cast a nervous look at the other customers wandering between the shelves, already bracing himself for the worst.

“It’s nothing about the – well, technically it is, but it’s not _bad,”_ Dustin said, voice getting louder and smile wider as he got all caught up in whatever news he had to share. Kid had no volume control, seriously. Max though… Max’s mood didn’t quite match Dustin’s. She looked shocked, stricken, like she’d seen a ghost, pale and one wrong word away from falling apart.

“Get to the point, doofus,” Robin said to Dustin. 

“Hopper’s back.”

Steve felt choked, certain he’d misheard. “What?”

“He’s not dead!”

“Keep your voice down, dumbass,” Steve hissed with another quick look at the lingering customers, tried to keep the shocked swoop it felt like his insides were taking from showing on his face. “How the fuck do you know that? What happened?”

“We can’t talk about it here, but come to this address tomorrow afternoon,” he said in an over-loud whisper, and slid a scrap of graph paper across the counter, “and we’ll all know everything.”

Steve rolled his eyes and slapped a hand down to take the paper. He knew being cautious made sense but it was a bit overdramatic. He didn’t see why they couldn’t just go now, Jesus. “Fine. I’ll come after work.”

“I’ll cover so you can go early, if you want,” Robin said. She hadn’t known Hopper like the rest of them had, but it was clear she was caught up in it, happy for them, and even clearer that she was itching to get the details. He knew she’d want to hear every scrap the second he got back.

“Thanks.” He grinned at Dustin, shock ebbing just enough to let him be happy about it. Fucking _unbelievable._ That man was literally indestructible. He must have had one heck of a story to tell, damn. He looked across to Max, expecting to see the same excitement on her face, but she still looked more nervous than anything else, a little nauseous. “What is it, Max?”

She swallowed, rolled her tongue around her mouth like she was fighting back tears. “Billy’s back too.”

#

 _It won’t let me go. I tried to drink it out of me, to drink so much I’d black out and it would shut the fuck up. But it just made me throw up, black goopy shit that I can still feel behind my teeth, and when I could fucking breathe again I felt more sober than before. I’m afraid of what it’s going to make me do next. I don’t know how to make it go._

(Billy’d pressed so hard the pen had torn through the paper, ink blurred and pale like the page had gotten wet, a smear of something crusted and black in the corner he didn’t want to think about.) 

_It won’t let me go I didn’t mean to do it why why won’t it let me go LET ME GO._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going with the theory that there were moments when the mindflayer didn't need him to be doing anything in particular so let Billy take the wheel again, unless he stepped out of line.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta for the comments/kudos on the last part!  
> I’m not gunna delve too much into Hopper and Hargrove’s excellent adventure because that’s not what this story is about. I gloss over a few of the details because this fic is meant to be about the journal stuff, and isn’t the in depth fix it that I’ll probably write at some point, so forgive me for being a bit vague.

_When I was a little kid, I was happiest when it was just me and mom. Even after she was gone, she was still the only girl for me. When dad first brought Maxine over, I didn’t think of her as anything more than an inconvenience, a blip. Then I hated her, when I realised Neil liked her more than me. But when we got older, there was a little while I thought we might be okay. That was when work was going good for Neil; he had more cash coming in, was out of the house a lot. I took Max to the movies, the arcade, the beach. She smiled. I wondered if maybe having a sister wouldn’t be so bad. Then he got fired. He was a dick to me, so I was a dick to Max, and we were back to square one. Then we had to move, and I hated her more than ever. But it’s not like that now. What with one thing and another, we… sure we piss each other off, but it’s okay. I never asked for a sister, but I’ve got one. Sorry mom, you might have to make room for one more._

Max had been crying for the past half hour. She’d been psyching herself up to see Billy back from the dead all morning, but it still hadn’t prepared her for the shock of seeing him again in reality. The tears had started the moment he’d walked into the room, quiet but steady and a little bit embarrassing, and she hadn’t been able to stop properly since. He’d seemed a bit bewildered when she’d flung herself at him and clung on for dear life, shied away like a spooked horse. But eventually he put a hand on her shoulder, steered her over to the dusty couch and let her curl up next to him as Hopper filled everybody in on what had happened.  
They were hiding out on one of the farms the mayor had cleared out for the Russians, one that the family hadn’t wanted to come back to, after everything. It smelt of rot and old earth and the water from the sink was brown. Even as Hopper was speaking, Max knew she wasn’t taking most of it in. She’d have to ask Lucas to catch her up properly later. She felt like she was under water, half delirious, head resting on Billy’s shoulder as her nose refused to stop running. He still _smelt_ like Billy, like her brother, and she couldn’t get enough of him. Was afraid if she let go it might all turn out to be a dream, and he’d turn to goop or disappear, and she’d wake up alone in his empty bedroom. All he’d said so far was a quiet, “hey, Mad Max,” when he’d first seen her, but not a word since. She hadn’t been able to say much either. It didn’t matter. He was back. 

Only fragments of what Hopper was saying registered in her current state, but she managed to piece together most of their story. That when that _thing_ had chewed a hole in El’s leg and left a piece of itself in her, it had also taken a piece of her with it. A piece which, it turned out, had somehow ended up staying with Billy, even after the mindflayer had left his body. 

“That’s why her powers weren’t working!” Mike interrupted, turned to glare at Billy. It made Max jump; she’d sort of forgotten about everybody else. _“He_ stole them.”

Max felt Billy flinch, and she would have gotten up to give Mike a thump if she’d been willing to let go.

“What did I say about jumpin’ in before you’ve heard it all?” Hopper said gruffly, eyes screwed shut with irritation. “But essentially, yeah. But that’s also how we got hold of El to let her know we were alive – I got him to try going into the void to find her. Easy enough, because of the uh, connection, it left behind. And now they’re on their way a lot sooner than they would be otherwise, so quit complaining, kid.”

“Fine,” Mike said, sulking a little. 

“It’s also how I’m even standing here in front of you,” Hopper said. “I wouldn’t be, if it wasn’t for him.”

Billy’s body had been taken from the mall in the confused aftermath of that night. Everyone had assumed he’d met the same nasty end as the rest of the flayed, his name up on the plaque for them in the cemetery. Max hadn’t liked to think about that too much. In the brief burst of confusion before Dr Owens had intervened, Billy had been taken by some of the surviving Russians to a small, back up base that hadn’t been discovered. They’d been regrouping and having another go at opening the gate by poking at weak spots left behind. Idiots. They hadn’t really known what to do with him apparently, all they knew was that he might be useful at some point. But he’d been dreaming about the upside down, having visions. Kept hearing Hopper, although it had taken him a while to figure out who it was and why he was hearing him. The chief had slipped in through the gate before the Russian’s machine under the mall had exploded. It was sheer luck, and carelessness from guards who’d gotten too used to Billy sitting quietly in a stupor of guilt and sadness and denial, that helped him to bust out of his cell.

“So then this idiot,” said Hopper, almost fondly, nodding to Billy, “instead of getting his ass out of there like he should have done, jumped right in through their shitty gate to hook me out.”

The room was silent for a moment while they stared at him. The leaky faucet dripped. 

“You did _what?”_ Dustin said.

“Maybe you wanna tell them the next part, kid,” Hopper said.

He did so, haltingly and sparingly and not meeting anyone’s eye. His voice was scratchy and quiet, like his throat was hurting or he hadn’t been using it much. He told them briefly of his trip into the upside down and how he’d found Hopper, how the shoddy gate they’d forced open had collapsed after they’d slipped out, and had taken a lot of the Russians out with it. They hadn’t stopped to check. It was obvious the others were still wary of him, but no longer afraid or hostile, once they knew what he’d done. “I don’t like using them,” he added quietly, when he was done talking and everyone was left in uneasy silence. “The kid’s – El’s – powers. They’re not mine.”

“So that’s that,” Hopper concluded, rubbing at his tired eyes. “We can talk about it more when Joyce is back with El and Will – “

“But we – “ cut in Mike.

“No arguments,” Hopper said, without any real bite. “Look, I’m tired as hell kid, I want nothing more than a smoke and to sleep for the next year. But since that isn’t going to be happening, at least give me a few hours until the others get here tomorrow, alright?”

He hadn’t mentioned Billy, but Max didn’t miss the quick look Hopper shot him, like he knew Billy needed some quiet and wanted to spare him from admitting it. Although knowing Hopper, it probably was true that he could do with a break from all of them too. 

They were just getting up to leave when Steve got there. He’d called up Max that morning, just to check it was still happening, and to remind her that he wouldn’t be able to make it until the afternoon lull fell and Robin could cover for him. Honestly, there’d been so much else to think about, she’d sort of forgotten he was coming. Max just happened to be looking in his direction as he let himself stumbling into the house, a little out of puff like he’d ran from the car, and drew up short when he saw Billy sitting on the couch. He looked like he was going to _cry,_ and again she wondered if maybe she’d mis-stepped in giving him the journal. But Billy was alive and everything else seemed so trivial for the moment, that she couldn’t bring herself to care about it. Besides, from where she was still pressed against his side, she felt the way Billy’s breath caught when he walked in. 

“Hey, Harrington.”

“Hey.”

#

_I nearly drove right into some chick on a horse today. Wasn’t my fault, she was right out in the road, the dumb bitch. She yelled at me for a solid five minutes, I swear. The horse didn’t seem all that bothered though. Just kept on looking at me with these big, brown, sad eyes, like all horses have. Deep and dark like a melted chocolate drop. I remember mom taking me out to her parents’ place for the last time before she left, walked me through the barn full of sunshine and hay dust, to see the horses. I petted their big soft noses, and they looked at me with their big old sad eyes, and I thought they were about the nicest things I’d ever seen._

Steve shook his head and slammed the copy of The Last Unicorn back in its place in the kids’ section. He needed to get a grip. Reading the journal had been horrifying at worst and confusing at best, and the whole thing was only more confusing now that Billy was back in the equation. When he’d first started reading it, he’d amused himself with the thought that if Billy somehow caught him reading it, he’d drag himself back from the dead just to punch his lights out. Didn’t seem quite so funny now. But he wasn’t sure the Billy he’d seen yesterday on the old couch in the deserted farmhouse, quiet and cautious, Max curled into his side and wiping at her tears, would do that. Question was, should he tell Billy he’d read it? He was pretty sure it featured low on the list of things that would trouble Billy right now, but he still felt guilty. It was private. He’d said a lot of things in there Steve didn’t think he’d be comfortable with him knowing. And that was without even acknowledging the other thing. The thing where he’d felt his stomach drop and chest leap and every other dumb thing people say about seeing someone you care about. Because he did fucking care, more than that, and he… fuck. He didn’t know what to think.

Robin appeared behind him. “What’s up Captain Heartthrob?” She’d gotten that from Billy. Of all the weird legacies he could have left behind…

“What?” Steve rubbed at his nose, didn’t meet her eye. “Nothing. Why?”

“Because you keep sniffing and your eyes are all red,” she said, “and I spent all of August listening to you bitch about allergies and practically popping the champagne when they stopped in September, so you can’t blame it on that.”

“Why are you so damn smart?”

“Was it rough seeing the chief and the Hargrove kid again?” she said softly, having read him in the space of a second and without giving him a chance to keep up. “How are they doing?”

“They’re fine,” he said, too quick. “Or y’know, as fine as you can be after… yeah.” He trailed off. Robin hadn’t known them, not really. She’d known Hopper just as much as anyone else in town, and if Steve was being honest he couldn’t claim to know him much better. But she’d never really known Billy aside from his reputation, and the handful of times he’d graced Scoops with his presence to prod at Steve. She knew enough to know they hadn’t been friends. How could she possibly know the significance of him coming back from the dead to Steve? Hell, if it hadn’t been for the journal, it might not have held quite so much significance for him, either. He wouldn’t have known Billy at all, a thought that made something twist, low and uncomfortable in his stomach. He wouldn’t have known about the soft parts of him he kept locked up and out of sight on cheap ruled paper, wouldn’t be clamouring to see those parts for himself, to see if any of them still existed even, after the nightmare Billy’d dragged himself out of. She wouldn’t know what it meant to him unless he told her. And unless he wanted to talk to Max about it – which he really did not and she had enough Billy related drama going on without him whining at her about it too – his options were getting kinda thin. It wasn’t like he could tell Billy, Jesus. “It’s uh, good to have them back.”

“Yeah?” she said coolly, not bothering to hide the fact that she knew there was something there to pry out of him. “You could try looking a little happier about it then.”

There was really no point in playing it cool anymore. She knew he was keeping something from her. He’d been dithering over telling her before, but now Hargrove was back, well, it kind of changed play a little. But he was going to well and truly lose his shit if he didn’t tell someone soon. “I like him, Robin.”

“What, the chief?” she said with a shrug, kept on chewing her gum. “Well sure. What was it the papers kept saying? Pillar of the community and all that crap.”

“No, God. Do you have to – “ he scrubbed a hand through his hair. Ruined the minimal effort he’d put into it that morning. “Hargrove. I… y’know. Like him.” He gave her a significant look, hoped it was enough to get his point across without him having to specify.

“You like him?” she said, still frowning, and for once in the entire time Steve had known her, slow on the uptake. “I thought you guys weren’t friends.”

“We weren’t, but I don’t mean…” he fumbled for the right way to say it. “Shit. I Tammy Thompson like him.”

Her eyebrows went up. “…Oh.”

“Yeah.” He gave her a moment to let that sink in. The silence seemed way too loud while he waited.

“So, you think you like guys?”

“No. I don’t – maybe?” he shook his head, scanned the shop for the hundredth time just to make sure there was no one lurking to overhear. Luckily it was 4.30pm on a rainy Thursday, and there was no one about. “I don’t know about _all_ guys, I haven’t thought about it, but... I know I still like girls, but I also know I like him. Isn’t that enough?”

“Yeah,” Robin said with a nod, voice gone low and quiet like it did when she knew it wasn’t the time to tease him. It didn’t happen often. Usually it was the early hours of the morning, both of them holed up in Steve’s living room with the TV on mute, exhausted but too wound up with bad memories to sleep. “Shit, Steve.”

“I know,” he said miserably. “I was already thinking about him a lot after he was gone, and now he’s back, and I… shit.”

“Okay,” she said, patted his shoulder. “I guess I can see why you’re getting a little stressed over here, Stevie.”

He snorted. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“I mean it dingus, that’s a lot going on for your tiny little beautiful head.”

He rolled his eyes, and got back to the point he was making. Too late to take it back, and he wanted to get it all out before he lost his nerve or clammed up. “I’ve just never been so confused over someone I’ve liked before, y’know? Like, I was a surprised when I realised I had the hots for Nance because she was so different to the other girls I’d dated and stuff. But that was nothing like this, Jesus. He’s a guy, Robin. I guy who I always thought hated my fucking guts until – ” Shit. He wasn’t meant to tell her about the journal. “Until he came back from the dead.”

“This is nuts,” she shook her head. “Even alongside all the other crap you’ve told me about what you guys have seen, what we went through, this is nuts.”

“So what do I do?” He still felt half-desperate, all turned around, but the tension across his shoulders had eased a fraction, now he’d shared the weight.

“Well,” Robin said, tone shifting back to no-nonsense, “I guess you go talk to him.”

He gaped at her. “Are you crazy? I can’t just jump in and ask him out after _that,_ he’s been through literal hell. I’m sure I’m the least of his damn problems.”

“I’m not saying you should waltz right up and offer to suck his dick, Steve, Jesus.” She rolled her eyes.

Steve sputtered. “I – “

“Just start off by being his friend,” she cut him off before he could build up steam, “and see what happens.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure he’s in the market for friends right now.”

“You said it yourself, he’s been through something none of us could even imagine. So maybe after all of that bullshit, all he needs is a little normal. A little love.”

The bell over the door rang, and they both jumped as a soaking wet trio of kids came in and started sniffing hopefully around the horror section. Robin tutted and went to deal with them, mouthing ‘you owe me’ as she went. Her last words had struck him dumb. His mind immediately went to one of the shortest entries in Billy’s journal, and the one Steve had probably looked at the most:

_Sometimes I’m stupid enough to think that just one kiss might get it out of my system. That if could just kiss him once, I’d stop feeling like I’m gonna snap in two, an elastic band pulled too tight, and things might be easier. But who am I fucking kidding though? I’ve never been able to stop anything once I get going. One kiss, and I’d only want more. I want to love him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would they have had a copy of The Last Unicorn like three years after it came out, maybe not. Did I need an excuse to include a journal entry about horses, yes.  
> Hey guess what they actually talk to each other next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This felt too rambly so I split it into two I’M SORRY  
> Also thanks for comments on the last part, I usually like to reply but I’ve been busy as heck.

_I think I almost killed Max’s friend. I don’t remember. The pool was closed, and I took a shower. Cold. I could barely feel him, felt almost normal for a second. Should've known better. Because then there was laughing and someone calling my name and it crept back up from where it was hiding, all excited to be on the chase, and I… I went into the sauna? They shut us in, the kids shut us in there. I was crying. That bit I remember. That part was all me, tears and snot and the look on Max's face. My chest hurt. The girl... Her shirt was yellow and black. He made me squeeze her throat, lift her up off the floor. She threw me through the wall. I don’t know how. I don’t remember getting home. I hope she’s okay. God, I hope she’s okay._

Steve could hear Max and El shrieking with laughter in the back yard. They’d missed each other. They all had. It felt like the Byers and El had been gone a lot longer than a few weeks. He wondered whether maybe it was the significance of the change, a shifting and resettling, that made it feel that way, rather than the time itself. It was a warm afternoon, and once they’d muddled their way through teary reunions and everyone talking over everyone else’s explanations of what had happened, they’d all gone out into the back yard of the borrowed farmhouse. There would be more shit to worry about again soon, and everyone knew it. It wasn’t very likely Hopper and Billy’s escape would be ignored. But for now, they were allowed one long, fall afternoon to forget about it. The sound carried; the kids laughing and yelling over each other, the occasional half-hearted reprimand from Joyce or Hopper that only made them worse. 

Billy had been… nice was too strong a word. Grudgingly civil, perhaps. Barely a flicker of anything showed on his face, other than the smallest of smiles for Max, and a teary sort of grimace for El. When they’d all wandered outside, Billy had hung back in the quiet of the kitchen, and Steve stayed with him. Dumb as it might have been, the thought of him sitting by himself, probably a little bit stuck in his own head, made Steve feel sort of squirmy. Sad, and a bit guilty, not that he thought Billy would appreciate the notion. But he hadn’t argued, just shrugged, gone back to staring at the tabletop. His indifference was what stood out to Steve the most. He’d never seemed indifferent about anything before; everything got a reaction from him. Even the smallest thing used to have him rolling his eyes or curling his lip or pushing for more.  
They sat in silence a while, the stillness of the room even more noticeable with the noise the kids were making echoing down the hall. They seemed very far away from the dim bareness of the kitchen. The family had taken most of their possessions with them when the mayor had kicked them out, only a dirty dish towel and a broken mug left on the countertop to show they'd ever been there at all. Steve dimly wondered if he should bring some useful shit over, or whether it would feel too much like charity. Piles of garbage and dead leaves and whatever had been swept away in the last couple of days, but it still smelt like dust and earth and mould. 

“You really don’t have to stay in here with me, Harrington,” Billy eventually broke the silence, eyes dry but red and puffy, chewing on a thumbnail and arms folded tight around himself where he sat on one of the two rickety kitchen chairs. He’d pulled the sleeves of his sweater right down over his hands, was holding them there hard, fingers curled tight into his palms. “I’m sure you’d rather be outside.” There was a sharpness to it, like Billy was trying to make it sound nasty but couldn’t quite manage it the way he used to.

“Not really.” It was true. He loved the kids, and it was good to see Joyce smile and mean it again, to see El hug her dad. But they were also loud as hell, and he didn’t need that right now. Also he _wanted_ to sit with Billy. Not that he could say that without being asked why, which would only lead to questions he didn’t know how to answer.

Billy blinked at him once, long and slow, before looking back to the grimy floral kitchen tiles. “Alright.”

“And _someone_ I know used to get a kick out of telling me I should hang out with more people my own age,” he said, with the distinct feeling he was pushing his luck, “so I dunno. Thought I’d give it a try.”

Billy didn’t quite laugh. It was more of a hard breath out through his nose, but his eyes flicked up to Steve again, and he thought – for a second – they looked brighter.

He was different. Not that Steve could have expected anything else, after everything. Quieter. Anybody could have told you that. Still a little hostile, a little sneering, but it felt more like it was turned inwards now. Steve thought he held himself differently, like he wanted to go unnoticed, no longer always standing tall to make that inch between them less obvious. His face sat slightly differently too, more open, less sharp. Behind his eyes, there was a dullness that hadn’t been there before; the calm that came after the storm, instead of before it. He’d overheard Hop telling Joyce how he’d go blank for a while sometimes, just stare at nothing, silent and unmoving, until he came back to himself. That he’d heard him crying too, screaming into his pillow. It wasn’t a big house.  
Steve hadn’t realised how much attention he’d paid to the little things about Billy Hargrove until so many of them had shifted out of alignment. They hadn’t been friends before, but it hit Steve suddenly, sitting at that gloomy kitchen table while the kids laughed outside, how close to it they’d come. _Start by being his friend, and see what happens._

“Billy, can I ask you – “

Before he could finish, Nancy and Johnathan came into the shade of the kitchen, laughing and hands clasped together. Billy startled, stood up without a word, and slipped away down the hall into his temporary bedroom. Steve knew better than to follow him, no matter how much he wanted to. When Nancy and Jonathan went back out to the yard, he went with them.

#

It was weirdly warm for October. The sky was heavy and overcast, the trees at the back of the farmhouse still thick with leaves starting to turn. The ground was hot and dank, and it smelt like it was going to rain. Steve was sitting on the back porch, after Hopper had told him that’s where Billy was hanging out. He’d found him looking out across the meadow, grass tall and gone to seed and hiding the last of the wildflowers, pink and yellow, since the land had been abandoned in July. Hop had looked a little twitchy when Steve had found him in the kitchen, and Billy looked a bit tense too. Cabin fever, maybe. Neither of them could stray too far from the house yet, relied on Joyce, Jonathan and Steve to drop off things they needed. 

Billy still didn’t talk all that much. He was a bit more expressive with Max, and with El, once he’d gotten over the initial blow of seeing her again. She’d been inside his head, so the kids had told him, and he guessed there wasn’t much left to hide from her after that. But he was getting better. He didn’t abruptly leave the room so much anymore, hung around to roll his eyes when Mike was being a little asshole, had even smiled when he’d seen Steve that afternoon.

“A little different to last October, huh?” Steve said, and immediately kicked himself for it. “Sorry, I didn’t – “ 

But to his surprise Billy laughed. Not properly, a low, sad little rumble, but it was the closest thing he’d heard to a laugh out of him so far. “Don’t sweat it Harrington.”

“Okay.”

“I never said I was sorry,” Billy said, looking away from him, chewing on his lip and eyes gone that flat grey again. “For last year. I’ve said a lot of other shit to you since, dumb shit, but not sorry.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh, quiet and incredulous. “Yeah, I think we’re a little past that now, Hargrove. You’ve more than made up for it. And y’know,” he gestured at the house around them, “more important shit and all.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know,” Steve said, although he hadn’t quite intended to say it out loud. He knew how sorry Billy was for the beating he’d dished out because he’d read about it a thousand times over. But if Billy needed to say it out loud too, that was fine by him. Billy couldn’t know he was already forgiven. “It’s okay.”

“I dunno Harrington,” he said, flat and quiet. “I’m an asshole, remember.” It almost sounded like he was trying to reaffirm it to himself. “I’ve done some… I’m weak, and a coward.”

He was wobbling on that thin line between being okay and losing it, succumbing to the memories of that thing in his head. Steve could already see him tearing up, the angry flush settling across his face. But he wasn’t going to let him. Refused to give it the weight Billy wanted him to. “Nah man,” he said, with a careless little shrug and a shake of his head. He almost reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but he could already see him shying away from the touch. “I don’t think so.”

Billy stared at him, shocked, for a second, had obviously expected a response either much more dramatic or coddling. He let out a half choked bark of laughter before he gave him a smile, tired and small and barely there. “Well if _you_ say so, Harrington...” 

The inevitable rain started then, with a low and distant roll of thunder, and they both looked up to the sky. It left tiny dark dots on the porch steps where it pattered across the wood, dinging on the tin roof of a little half-collapsed shed in the yard. Steve turned to ask Billy if they should head inside, but Billy wasn’t paying him any attention. His eyes were closed and face tilted up. There were silvery scars on his cheek and creeping down his neck, hair yellow-gold in the dim greenish light. He let the rain fall on his face, pink under the cold drip of water. He was beautiful, and Steve _hurt._

_It’s official. If there was any doubt about it before, that is. I’m the worst kind of fucking lowlife to crawl the earth. The kind that beats the shit out of someone because they can’t beat the shit out of the person they really want to hurt. The kind that hits a boy because they can’t have him. A coward. Scared fuckin little boy. You’d think I’d know I was trash by now, with how often Neil reminds me, but even I was surprised how far it went. Too fuckin’ far. I want to tell him it wasn’t for him. I’m sitting here with bruised knuckles and the split lip I keep tasting because he gave it to me and I can’t leave it alone. I can’t say that I’m enjoying the black eye dad gave me for fucking up quite as much. It wasn’t for you, it was for him. It was for everything else. It was for myself. I want to tell him I’m sorry, but I can’t. If I write it down enough times, maybe he’ll somehow just know. I’m sorry, pretty boy._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY.  
> Warning for a self-directed f-slur or two being thrown around because Billy. Not enough to tag for, but just a heads up.

Day by day, the tension surrounding Billy began to ease up, and he got a little more relaxed about hanging out with Steve. Watching TV on the old set Steve had smuggled over from his parents’ garage, teaching Max how to play poker at the kitchen table, just… talking. In general, he was quiet and unsure, a little softer around the edges. But Steve found, with a weird sort of delight and plenty of frustration, that Billy was still kind of a dick. The old bad boy he’d known him as was still in there somewhere, a free spirit who absolutely did not give a fuck what anyone else thought. He just didn’t make his way to the surface so often as he used to.

“So,” Billy said to him one afternoon when they were in the back yard, hanging out a load of laundry together. Which honestly was a weird enough scenario all by itself, no matter what direction Billy might have steered their conversation. “Henderson tells me Russians tried to pull out your fingernails.”

Steve pulled aside damp, flowery bedlinen to look at him in surprise. “Uh, yeah. They would’ve done, if him and Erica hadn’t gotten there in time,” he fiddled with an old cigarette burn on the fabric. Joyce had dug out some old things for Billy and Hopper to use. “But, um. They had us kinda doped up. Don’t think it hit me how bad it could have gone until after, y’know?”

“Wow,” Billy shook his head, laughed darkly around the clothes peg clamped between his teeth. “And I thought _I_ was having all the fun.”

“Billy, I – “

“Don’t, Harrington.” Billy’s smile vanished, and he pegged up an old pillowcase between them on the line, effectively blocking Steve from his view. “It’s not a fuckin’ contest.”

It really wasn’t. But if it were, Billy would be named the unlucky winner by a long shot. “Don’t, man.”

“Don’t what?” came the gruff reply. Steve watched his faintly cigarette-yellowed fingertips peg up another pillowcase.

“Hide from me,” Steve said quietly, not sure what Billy would make of such a demand. He wouldn’t have dared say that to him a few weeks ago, didn’t think he had the right. But after the tenuous sort of friendship had strung itself together between them, after Billy had let the odd remark about his time with the mindflayer drop with a false sort of casualness, like he wanted to tell Steve but didn’t want to look like he was making a big deal out of it, he felt bold enough to ask it.

He could see the outline of Billy through the sheets, shadowy grey through pale blue cotton, hesitating for a moment before he pushed the pillowcase aside. “Peekaboo,” he said flatly.

“Billy, _come on.”_

“Fine,” Billy shot right back, eyes narrowed. “If you’re going to cry about it, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, I…” Honestly he hadn’t been expecting Billy to turn it around like that so fast. He should have. After all, he was – 

“Still an asshole,” Billy finished Steve’s thought out loud.

It took Steve a second to realise what had happened. “Huh?”

Billy smirked, cold and humourless, and tapped his temple. “I still got the kid’s powers, remember?”

“You looked inside my head?!” Steve yelped, resisted the urge to clap his hands over his ears, like it would help. What else had he seen? Holy shit, please not the journal.

“No,” Billy shook his head, hair in his eyes, “you were just thinking real loud.”

“Oh.” That was enough to effectively pull his thoughts away from the book. “I didn’t know she could do that.”

Billy shrugged. “It’s gettin’ weaker. And Max told me El stopped something falling off the counter last night, so... I think they’re going back to her.”

“Uh, good?” Steve said, wrongfooted. He wasn’t sure what Billy wanted him to say to that.

“It is,” he said firmly. “I don’t want ‘em. Got enough to be worrying about.”

“Okay.” Steve looked down. The laundry basket was empty, and he had to be at Family Video in half an hour. Shit. “I gotta go to work,” he said reluctantly. 

“Sure,” said Billy gruffly, eyes on the yellowed grass under their feet. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” said Steve, relieved, _happy,_ at the hopeful note in Billy’s voice. “But can I say one more thing first?” As much as it was going to suck, he didn’t want to leave things on the weird, sour note he’d somehow managed to create between them.

Billy looked up, wrinkled his nose. “Whatever, pretty boy. Knock yourself out.”

“Right.” Steve felt himself mentally stumble at hearing Billy call him that again. He’d never paid it much mind before, just another taunt in the long list of crap Billy threw his way. It didn’t feel like that anymore. “So, I’ve uh, I’ve been through this shit three times, man.” 

He rolled his eyes. “No need to show off, Harrington.”

Steve ignored him. “I’ve seen a lot of things I wish I hadn’t, and done a lot of things I wish I hadn’t had to, y’know? Shitty things, like super shitty. But none of it was as brave as what you did.”

Billy shook his head, impatient. “I don’t wanna hear this shit – “ 

“And I dunno, like… sure, I swung a bat at a few monsters,” Steve shrugged, “and yeah it’s left me pretty fucked up. But I always had a _chance._ A slim one yeah, and don’t get me wrong I could have died like a hundred times, easy. But every time I stepped up to take a swing, it wasn’t certain I was going to die, not matter how much it felt like it.” 

“Well that must have been nice for you, King Steve,” Billy spat. “What’s your point?”

“But it _was_ certain _you_ were going to die,” Steve said, suddenly angry about it and not quite sure why. “When you stepped in front of that thing and reached out to stop it with your bare fucking hands,” he spat, “you knew you were going to die. To save a little girl you barely knew. To save all of us. I – “ he shook his head, at a bit of a loss. “You’re fucking brave, Billy Hargrove. Do me a favour and don’t forget it, yeah?”

He turned around to leave before Billy could give him shit for interfering or whatever. He thought of all the times in his journal Billy had called himself a coward, or implied it. About how he’d as good as said it out loud one of the first times they hung out after Billy had come back. He didn’t want him to feel that way anymore. He walked back across the overgrown yard to his car, scaring the hell out of a rabbit hiding in a clump of weeds. He knew he was going to have to tell Billy he’d read the journal soon. Had to, or it was going to burst out at the wrong time and be a thousand times worse. He’d told Billy he was brave, but Steve wasn’t so sure about himself. 

#

There was no one else at the farm. Hopper was out doing whatever, the kids were at school, the Byers and El gone home to pack some more stuff before coming back to stay in Hawkins while they figured everything out. Just him and Billy, and he couldn’t put it off any longer.

Billy was fiddling about with an old bike they’d found in one of the barns; pulling it to pieces, cleaning everything up and putting it back together again. What was left of the Camaro was under a tarp in the Hargroves’ garage where he couldn’t get at it, so the bike would have to do. He had parts of it spread across the living room floor, smears of old dirt and grease on the sheet he’d laid out underneath. Steve wasn’t even sure it was about getting the thing working again, so much as Billy giving himself something to do, something else to think about. His tongue poked out while he worked, sitting cross legged, frowning at the hunk of metal in his hand. It was cute; hair pulled back from his face, a smear of grease across his freckles and a wrinkle of concentration on his forehead. It sucked Steve had to ruin it.

“Hey, um,” he put aside the comic book he was pretending to read, dug around for the courage he needed to say what he had to say. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Uh,” he hesitated, mouth dry. “Max told you she went through your room after… _after,_ right?”

“Yep,” Billy said absently without looking up, fumbling around on the sheet for the next part he needed, “She’s gunna see if she can sneak any of it out without Neil noticing.” 

Billy wouldn’t be going back to the Hargrove house. He’d gone grey at the mere suggestion of it, before Max had shot Hopper a panicked look, and it was decided they’d think of something else. Staying at the farm forever might prove tricky if the family did decide to show up again one day, but the fact that both Billy and Hopper were still legally dead would make it difficult to find somewhere else for the time being.

“Uh-huh,” Steve said, fiddled with the sleeve of his sweater. “Thing is, she uh, found something that she wasn’t really sure what to do with, so she showed it to me – “ 

“The porn?” Billy looked over with a teasing smile, all teeth, before it suddenly dropped and he tensed up again. “Wait, it wasn’t actually, was it? That little shit – ”

“Um, no,” Steve said, suddenly a little tense himself for reasons of his own, and wondering what the hell type of porn Billy kept to look so worried at the prospect of Steve finding out about it. After the journal though, he could take a guess. “No, it’s…” he couldn’t say it. “Shit. She gave me this.” With a sigh, he pulled out the notebook where he’d hidden it between the stack of comic books, kept his eyes fixed on his own hands. 

He heard Billy go still where he was sitting on the sheet. “What’s that?” he said quietly, although from his tone, it was pretty fucking obvious he recognised it. 

This is it, Steve thought. This is where he socks me on the jaw and never speaks to me again. The Billy Hargrove he’d imagined punching his lights out for reading literally all of his darkest secrets came creeping back into his head, the same Billy who’d looked at him in the Byers’ front yard last November, glittering eyes through a haze of cigarette smoke, before he’d kicked the shit out of him. But that Billy didn’t exist anymore. Only the Billy sitting in front of him right now, ankles crossed and grease under his fingernails and one of Max’s hair ties holding back his curls. The Billy he’d spent dozens of long afternoons with, lazy smiles or quiet sadness over a pack of battered playing cards, who let Steve slap him on the shoulder and steal his chips. But still, it wouldn't have been a surprise if Billy hated him for it; Steve was good at losing people.

“Please don’t…” Billy started, quiet and rough, and when Steve found the courage to look at him he saw Billy looking almost as miserable as he was, panicked and close to tears. And sure, he cried easy some days, but that didn’t mean Steve enjoyed being the reason why.

“Shit Billy, what’s the – “ 

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Just forget about it, burn it, I don’t care,” he said, swiping angrily at his eye. “Look, I know it was probably weird for you, having to read all that shit I wrote about you and whatever, and I understand if you don’t want see me – “

“Wait,” all of Steve’s panic went out of the window when he saw how worked up Billy was getting, “wait. Billy, it’s fine, I just wanted you to know I’d read it because I felt bad – “

“Please don’t drag this shit out Harrington,” he snapped, lip curled and obviously aiming for fierce, but it fell a bit short of the mark, “if you’re going to hate me for being a fag then – “

Steve didn’t let Billy finish that sentence. “Hate you?” he said, felt laughter bubbling up his throat at how crazy that was. Billy was watching him, uneasy at Steve’s sudden change of mood, from where he was still sitting on the floor. “I fucking _love_ you, Billy, and I didn’t even realise it until after you were… gone.”

Billy made a soft, hurt sound, then Steve was kneeling in front of him, getting grease all over his jeans as he shoved aside bike parts to get to him, hands hovering and unsure if Billy wanted to be touched. “Hey… are you okay?”

Billy took one of his hands, shaking, and brought it to the side of his face, pressed into the touch. “Yeah,” he said. Steve forgot how to breathe. 

Billy kissed him, an awkward gap between them from the angle they were sitting on the sheet, knees in the way and Steve curled down. His mouth was dry, lips a little chapped, stubble rough on Steve’s face. He smelt like warm grass and cigarettes and leather and motor oil, cheap laundry detergent and the sandwiches they’d made for lunch.

They broke apart. Billy was looking at him like he might disappear. It was a feeling Steve could understand. Without meaning to, he curled his hand tighter into Billy’s shirt.

“Y’know,” he said, smile creeping onto his face, “you wrote out a hell of a lot of song lyrics in that book. What are you, twelve?”

Billy snorted, shoved him lightly on the shoulder so he overbalanced and fell back onto the oily sheet. “Shut up Harrington.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised there's no journal entries with this one... too late now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who were surprised that shit didn’t hit the fan when Billy found out Steve had read the journal – that is exactly what would have happened if this fic was longer lol. So you were on to something. But at this point I just kinda wanted to wrap it up, so here we are. Thanks for reading :)

_I wonder sometimes, what it might be like to a part of their stupid little… gang. Whatever it is. I’d hate it. I see him pull up outside the arcade, the brats all fighting each other to get out of the car and inside first, pockets full of quarters. He’ll hand one of them a couple dollars more for snacks, like he’s their fuckin’ mommy. Then they’re gone, and he’s alone in the parking lot. He’s all frowns and whining and eye rolls and playing at being pissed off as he tells them he’ll pick them up in an hour. But when they’re gone, he smiles. Sometimes he’ll leave right away. But sometimes, if it’s nice out, he’ll stick around, lean up against the car and smoke, turn his face to the sun. And I just… what if I went and stood next to him? We’d pass the smoke back and forth, and I’d feel the heat of him where our shoulders press together. And he’d smile. For me. The kids would cram back into the car, I’d yell and mean it, he’d yell and he wouldn’t. I’d hate it. I’d fuckin’ hate it._

#

October was almost over. Max had been living in Hawkins for a year, and if she stopped to think about how much had happened in that time, it made her feel dizzy. In fairness, the events her first _week_ in Hawkins alone had been enough to do that. But if you threw in the last few months too, it was definitely more crazy shit than the average person had to deal with. Two rounds with interdimensional creatures and a brother possessed by a monster before coming back from the dead was maybe a little out of the ordinary. But there’d been good stuff too. 

The day had been sunny, late afternoon settling into evening and casting long orange shadows across the back yard of the borrowed farmhouse. Every day there were more leaves on the ground. The small bonfire Hop and the boys had built was keeping the twinge of fall chilliness at bay, and El was carefully sliding fat little marshmallows onto sticks ready for them to toast. The guys were scooping up handfuls of leaves to throw at each other, giddy, a little stupid with the idea of a perfect, happy afternoon. She guessed she could understand that. Steve’s friend Robin was sitting out of the boys’ range, propped up against a tree and reading a book. Joyce had dragged a pile of blankets outside and Nancy and Jonathan already sitting on one, small smiles and linked fingers and sharing a cup of hot packet cocoa. Max guessed they must have missed each other when the Byers’ moved away and whatever, but she really couldn’t imagine herself ever being so sappy. 

A little less obviously in love were her brother and Steve. To everyone else anyway; to Max it was clear as day. She knew what Billy looked like when he was happy, even if it was only because of years spent seeing him miserable. They were sitting on the porch, talking quietly, occasionally laughing or digging each other in the ribs, balling up Halloween candy wrappers to flick at each other’s heads. In between their prodding and teasing, Steve’s fingers rested on top of Billy’s on the ground. She’d overheard him teasing Billy about the dumb lyrics from Styx and Scorpions and Iron Maiden that he’d scribbled all over his journal, so she knew he must have told him Max had found it. But he hadn’t said anything about it to her. Yet. Steve’s nose was pink as the chill of evening crept in, both of them bundled up in thick sweaters. Billy was wearing a woolly hat, pulled down tight over his ears, odd curls escaping from underneath. He was maybe one of the biggest changes since last year. 

She stopped watching the two boys when El called her over to the fire, ready to start on the marshmallows. Mike was showing her the best place to hold the stick over the fire, close enough to get it brown on the outside and gooey in the middle, but not so close that it melted right off the stick in a black sticky lump. Max showed her how to put together her first ever smore. Then Lucas somehow managed to get his marshmallow in Max’s hair, so after giving him the chewing out he deserved for it, she went inside to try and wash it out. 

Still a bit sticky but with no pink lumps in her ponytail anymore, she headed back outside, only to find Billy waiting for her on the porch. Steve had moved to sit with the others around the fire. 

“Hey, gingerbread,” he tapped his cigarette to shake off the ash. It was something he’d started calling her since he’d come back. She hadn’t liked it all that much to begin with; she actually kinda preferred shitbird, but she guessed this was technically nicer.

“Casper,” she said, and went to lean next to him against the rail.

He snorted. “I’m not a ghost.”

“You came back from the dead,” she shrugged. It was starting to get easier to throw that sort of thing around without flinching now, for both of them.

“Fair.” The hat he was wearing was blue, had a brand name on it that Max had never heard of. Maybe it was Steve’s. 

“Why aren’t you with your boyfriend?” she shot a look over to where Steve was helping Dustin eat a five layer smore while Robin licked crumbs off her fingers and told them they were idiots. Then she looked back to Billy, daring him to tell her she was wrong. For a second, he looked as though he might.

But then he deflated, and smashed out the remainder of his cigarette. The smell of it should have been gross, but it reminded her so much of him, of weeks with the fading smell of smoke in his empty bedroom, that she didn’t mind it. “I wanted to talk to you. Sort of… about that, actually.”

“I mean, I’m flattered that you came to me for relationship advice, but I really don’t wanna talk about whatever it is you and Steve do – “

Before she could blink, he’d flicked the cold cigarette butt at her, where it bounced harmlessly off her jacket and onto the porch floor.

“Ew, Billy!” She wiped at her jacket, even though it hadn’t left a mark. “Gross.”

“If you’d stop being a little shit for two seconds Maxine,” he said, hands stuffed back into his pockets now he didn’t have the cigarette to occupy them, “I’m trying to say thanks.”

She blinked. “What for?”

“Giving Harrington that damn book.”

“Oh.” She felt her face go pink. “I’m sorry I read it, Billy. It’s just you were gone, and I didn’t think – “

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t burst a blood vessel,” Billy said gruffly, scuffing the toe of his boot on the ground. “I’m not saying it wasn’t a fucking dumb thing to do, alright? But I’m glad you did. Things might not have turned out this way if you hadn’t.”

Max wrinkled her nose, embarrassment at the reminder of knowing her brother’s every dirty little secret easing. “I don’t know,” she said. “It might have taken longer, but I think it might have happened anyway.”

“Yeah?” he said it so quietly, so full of hope, that it caught her off guard.

“Uh huh,” she said. “Steve has terrible taste, it was only a matter of time.”

He laughed, then tilted his head to the side, like he was surprised he’d done so. “I could throw you right off this porch for that, gingerbread.”

“Mhmm,” she picked a stray lump of marshmallow she’d missed out of her hair. “You won’t though.”

“Not today, shithead.”

“Asshole.” She let him be a moment, and they both watched the others grouped around the fire. It was better than either had ever hoped for, when they’d first moved. Upside Down bullshit aside. “I mean it though. He really likes you, Billy.”

He pushed himself away from where they were leaning, mouth open like was about to argue. But then it snapped shut, he breathed out hard through his nose. “I know.”

“Good.” Before he could argue, she wrapped her arms tight around his middle, pressed her face briefly into the thick knit of his sweater. He smelt like the bonfire. All of them did. She let go before he could hug her back, but she kept hold of his hand to pull him down the porch steps. “Come on. Before they eat all the damn marshamllows.”


End file.
